There is only one passion, the passion for happiness. - Denis Diderot
“I’m exhausted,” he sighs as he plops down onto the sofa and rhythmically begins rubbing his temples, weariness spread across his entire body. “I don’t know up from down and the rat race just makes me crazy!” Looking for comfort, a bit of reassurance and maybe one of my good, old-fashioned, cliché-filled pep talks, he waits for me to decide what to say. Ironing, when not baking, has always been my way of centering myself, the way I focus my thoughts and clear my head, and once again he comes to find me in the corner of the living room, steam curling around my body, ready to listen. How often have we met up like this, found ourselves here, having this same conversation?
I haven’t told you the story of how we came to have the idea of owning a hotel, have I? The first time, I mean. We had just moved to Nantes in the early aughts, 2003 or 2004, and we didn’t quite know how to move ahead, as we were trying to settle the boys into school and settle ourselves into life. Here is that story…